shades of red

coquelicot red;

I was laying in my bedroom, listening
to the drumming and echoing voices of
The 1975 when I remembered about
Charlie's list.

I pulled it out of my backpack and
unfolded it carefully, looking at the detailed
and sharp creases he created.

To Rose,
I miss the color blue, but I don't
want to use it.
I miss the ocean, but I don't want
to draw it.
I miss the clear sky, but I don't
see any of it.
I miss bubbly laughter, but I hear
none of it.

Maybe we can draw eyes that show
the world in a different perspective from
what it is.
Maybe we can draw a bird about to take
flight but its body is made out of the roots
of trees.
Maybe a grand, male deer with antlers shaped
like branches of trees, with birds flying away.
Maybe a ballerina dressed in soft white that
fades into the entire canvas.
Maybe we can draw the night, when the
colors fall endlessly across the page as the
twinkling stars purse out of the canvas.

Maybe.

I lowered the paper onto my lap and sighed,
"How can you draw something without
using the color blue? Why is he so against
the color?" I shook my head and tossed the
paper aside.